


Slipping Down

by withthekeyisking



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Blow Jobs, Collars, Coming In Pants, Deepthroating, Dom Slade Wilson, Dom/Sub AU, Dom/sub, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Objectification, Quite Literally, Sub Damian Wayne, Subspace, implied past Slade/Dick, implied past Slade/Jason, which are things i might have to expand upon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Damian knows there's nothing shameful about being a sub. Two of his siblings are subs, and it doesn't detract from their worth nor make them worse at their jobs. Despite what his grandfather taught him growing up, subs are not lesser than switches or doms.Heknowsthis.But that doesn't mean it's in any way easy to submit.
Relationships: Damian Wayne/Slade Wilson
Comments: 40
Kudos: 151





	Slipping Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meaninglessblah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/gifts).



> Enjoy! <3

Damian's leg bounces, an annoyingly obvious sign of anxiety that he wishes he could stop, but can't quite manage to do so.

Slade, on the other side of the room, pays him no mind. Or, at least, _pretends_ to pay him no mind. Damian doesn't believe for a single moment that he isn't the focus of the man's attention. That's why they're here, isn't it? Why Slade extended the offer he did.

Or maybe this is so run-of-the-mill to him, is so ordinary and not worthy of note, that Slade really _isn't_ paying him any attention. Maybe he really _is_ focused on whatever is on his computer screen, uncaring of the sixteen-year-old barely keeping himself seated.

He still can't believe he agreed to this at all. He barely remembers _how_ he ended up agreeing to it, only that there was a fight and Slade got him on his knees and there was a _look_ in his eye, something knowing, and he made an offer and Damian—

Said no. _Shouted_ no, in fact. Said quite a few unkind things, and got himself out of there.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it, in the following weeks. With every embarrassing lesson from Richard or Jason, during each horrible training session with his father, he kept being reminded of the offer.

And so here he is, a month later, sitting in Slade Wilson's living room and waiting for the man to just _do_ something.

After another five minutes, Damian can't take it any longer. He straightens, squaring his shoulders, and snaps, "If you don't plan on doing anything, what is the purpose of me being here?"

There are a few moments where Slade doesn't look up at him, instead continuing to type on his laptop, doing whatever it is he has been doing since before Damian climbed in through his window. Damian's irritation—unfortunately fueled by discomfort and anxiety—continues to grow the longer he's ignored, until _finally_ Slade drags his gaze upward, locking onto Damian's.

He looks so... _bored,_ so unimpressed, and Damian's jaw clenches in response, hating that that look makes him feel small. He is Damian Wayne, he is an _al Ghul,_ and he should not feel so embarrassed because of the way a _mercenary_ looks at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Slade says, sounding anything but. "Here I was thinking you were too busy denying your instincts to listen to anything I have to say."

Damian bristles. He takes a calming breath. He did _come here,_ after all. He can do this. Richard and Jason explained the... _importance_ of such a thing, even if they probably would not be happy with his choice of dom.

But it's not like they're easy to _find._ Or, rather, they _are_ easy to find—the superhero community may be a mixed bunch but it does tend towards doms—but none of them are people Damian would ever be able to _consider_ debasing himself in front of. He has to be strong, in control. He's _Robin,_ he's Batman's son, he's supposed to be above them all. Which means none of them can ever see him that way.

He'd rather _no one_ ever sees him that way, actually. But when he settled, Richard and Jason told him about how the health textbooks weren't lying about it being a necessary part of life, that there was no resisting his instincts forever. It would only make him vulnerable. He _had_ to allow himself to submit every once in a while.

Technically he can do so with any of the doms or even switches in his family. Submission doesn't have to be sexual, after all. Considering most people settle when they're around twelve, a sexual aspect most _certainly_ doesn't factor in. So yes, Damian knows he _can_ go to his father or Cassandra or even Timothy if he must, but there's something about that that makes something twist in his gut.

He _knows_ that settling as a sub doesn't make him any less than his dom and switch family members, that it _certainly_ doesn't make him less than all the other idiotic doms out there in the world. Richard and Jason are proof of that, if nothing else. They are two of the best warriors Damian knows; them being subs does nothing to detract from their worth or capability. And he knows that both used to have sessions with Father when they were young, that there's nothing shameful about it. That father would be _willing,_ if Damian asked him.

But even after years of being in Gotham and proving his worth and forming a bond with his father and the others, Damian is still...anxious, about being cast out. About doing the wrong thing or failing in some regard and them all taking it as proof that he never belonged with them at all, that Mother never should've dropped him off, that they never should've fought to keep him.

He's afraid of being so... _weak_ and _needy_ in front of his father. And, even worse, if he _does_ take that leap and do it, he's afraid of...being a bad sub.

What if he doesn't submit the right way? What if he's too argumentative? What if there was a mistake and he doesn't go Down easily and he just makes everything far too hard on his father?

Damian watched his grandfather get rid of bad subs while he was growing up; he knows how quickly they can be tossed aside when they don't behave properly.

And, yes, he knows his father and his siblings are _nothing_ like Ra's al Ghul, but _what if?_

At least with a man like Deathstroke, it won't _matter_ if the man thinks he's a bad sub. What ground does a mercenary have to stand on? His disapproval would mean absolutely nothing; all that would happen is one bad session and then Damian would put it all behind him. Find another solution.

But right now, he's here. He's in Deathstroke's apartment, he came here with a _purpose,_ and he was apparently a fool for thinking Slade would make this _easy._

Damian draws in a slow breath, counting in his head, and then releases it for the same count. He can do this.

"I am listening," Damian grits out. "I'm _here,_ aren't I?"

Slade looks amused, leaning back in his chair. "Kid," he says, "you have any idea how prickly you look?"

Damian cuts a sharp smile at him, hands tightening on his knees. "What, were you expecting me to drop to my knees the second I got here? Beg you for your attention? Did you really think it would be that easy?"

Slade's amusement seems to deepen. "You are not the first sub I've trained who was... _resistant_ in the beginning, boy."

Damian bares his teeth. "I'm not here for you to _train_ me, Wilson."

"Aren't you?" Slade asks. Despite his amusement and relaxed posture, his blue eye is sharp, far too observant. "You have no idea what to do with yourself. You expected to settle as a dom or at least a switch, and now that you're a sub..." He tilts his head. "Your grandfather certainly has some very strong opinions about them."

Oh yes, yes he does. To Ra's al Ghul, the only place a sub belongs is on their knees, ready to serve their dom in any role asked of them. They are trained to fight, like everyone in the League, but only cursory training and _certainly_ never sent on any missions. Their main training is in obedience, loyalty, and, of course, how to... _please_ their dom.

They have next to no rights, in the culture of the League of Assassins. Growing up, Damian never saw anything wrong with that. It was simply the way life worked, no different from the robes Damian wore or the languages he was taught to speak. It was just part of life.

But then he came to Gotham, and worked with Richard as his Batman. And while Richard is a sub, he is so very far from submissive. Same with Jason. Same with so many other subs Damian began to encounter, away from his grandfather's influence. He learned better than the way he was raised.

Damian settled late, not until he was fifteen instead of twelve or thirteen like he should've. Usually, those who settle late end up settling as switches, which was something Damian made his peace with when he turned fourteen. He could handle being a switch. But what actually happened...

Well, you know the rest.

"And do you share those _opinions?"_

Slade snorts. "Designation doesn't mean shit to me, kid," he says. "Never has, never will. Well, except in times like this."

"What, exactly, are _times like this?"_

Slade's expression twists in faint exasperation, and he watches Damian for a few moments before he shakes his head. "C'm'ere, kid."

Damian narrows his eyes. Slade simply waits.

Letting out a sharp breath, Damian pushes himself to his feet and strides across the room to stand in front of Slade, chin held high and looking down his nose at the still-seated man.

"Good," Slade murmurs. It doesn't sound condescending or mocking, it sounds _real,_ and it makes Damian's chest feel tight. He balls his hands into fists.

"Do you want your hands tied in front of yourself or behind?" Slade asks.

Damian balks. "Excuse me?"

Slade sighs. "Do you want me to _force_ you Down, kid? Because I can. You need a strong hand, that's clear as damn day, but that doesn't mean it has to be a fight. So, do you want to answer my question, or do you want me to _make_ you?"

Damian swallows, heart speeding up.

Slade _had_ told him that he'd done this before. Subs who were fighters, ones with strong wills and a tendency to be on the front lines. His type, apparently. It's why he made the offer. He's experienced with subs like Damian, who might be... _resistant_ to going Down. So Slade means it, right now. He can make Damian's first session an easy road, or they can force it.

Damian doesn't think he can get himself to just... _obey._ He can't just submit to Slade, can't just let Slade tie his wrists and do whatever the hell he wants to him. He can barely get himself through his father's lessons on how to resist a dom's Orders in the field without getting frustrated and embarrassed by what he is, but _willingly submitting?_ That's simply horrifying.

He came here for a reason. But if he has the option to resist and have Slade _make_ him go Down—

Well, that certainly sounds satisfactory.

So Damian sets his stance, sneering at the seated man, who does no more than offer him a lazy blink. "Try it, Wilson."

One corner of Slade's mouth ticks up in a small smirk. "Have it your way, kid."

And then he's moving, striking out. Damian swerves to avoid the hit and blocks the next, throwing his own punch in return. But they're already so close together, Damian in Sade's reach, and Damian is in plain clothes without his weapons, which puts him at a severe disadvantage against Slade's enhancements.

He handles himself well, and fights valiantly, but it is over almost embarrassingly quick.

Slade pins him, cheek smushed against the hardwood floor, arms twisted in the small of his back, knees tucked underneath him. Slade layered over him.

And for a second, Damian—panics. Because the way they're currently placed lines up Slade's crotch almost perfectly over Damian's ass. And Damian knows why he came here, where this was more than likely going to end, but he's not...ready. He not Down, they've only just begun, he doesn't _want—_

Slade presses his arms further up his back, straining Damian's shoulder and making him grit his teeth against the pain. He struggles automatically, searching for a weak spot, but Slade really does have him pinned. He can do anything he wants to him.

Damian doesn't understand why that sends a slight thrill up his spin.

"Relax," Slade murmurs, breath washing across Damian's temple. "Settle down, boy. I've got you, you're not getting out. So be a good boy for me. All you have to do is _stay. Still."_

He puts _power_ into the words, makes them an _Order,_ and usually Damian can shake off a dom's orders with no trouble thanks to his lessons with his father and brothers—

(When he settled just after his fifteenth birthday, Batman benched him and Nightwing and Red Hood supported the decision, refusing to let him back out into the field until he didn't flinch when his father Ordered him to do something, because if he could resist someone like Batman then he could handle any random mook out on the streets of Gotham.

It helps that no one looks at him and thinks he's anything but a dom. He's finally reaching his growth spurt, almost six feet and more than likely still growing, his shoulders broad and muscles clear—everyone says he's going to end up just as large as his father, by the time he's finished. Definitely not someone whom you face and think _sub._

Slade has been the only person to notice the truth.)

—but right now, pinned the way he is, beaten after a fight, Ordered by a dom like Slade—well, Damian _melts._

He holds himself still, not straining against Slade's hold any more, staying perfectly in place. Staying still. That's all he has to do.

Slade doesn't move for a few moments, a solid presence on top of him, and then slowly begins to draw back. When Damian still doesn't move, Slade's hand brushes through his hair and he murmurs, "Good boy."

Damian shivers, head buzzing. He hears Slade stand up, then walk the few steps back to his chair and sit down. Then there is silence, and Damain's cheeks begin to heat with embarrassment, something uncomfortable settling in his gut. He must look ridiculous. He must look so pathetic—

 _"Come here,"_ Slade Orders, and Damian instantly pushes himself up, grimacing as his arms protest his weight after being held in such an uncomfortable position.

But when he begins to shift to get his feet underneath him, Slade stops him with, "No. Don't stand, just come here."

Damian's shoulders tense, his jaw clamping shut. He wants him to _crawl_ to him? How humiliating, how debasing, how...

Enticing.

Mouth dry, Damian does as he's told, shuffling over until he's kneeling in front of Slade. He can't lift his gaze to look at the man, too embarrassed by his compliance, by the buzzing in his head that is very pleased about doing as he's been told.

Slade's hand settles on the back of Damian's neck, squeezing firmly but not painfully. "Very good," he says, and sounds like he means it. It makes Damian shiver and lean into the grip, enjoying the way Slade's hand tightens in response. "Back down now, boy. Hands and knees, turn sideways."

Damian follows the instruction, his eyes sliding shut when Slade praises him for that small action.

And then Slade's boots are digging into his back.

Damian jolts, eyes going wide, breath catching. Slade is—Slade's _feet_ are on him, heavy, the edges of his boots causing tiny pinpricks of pain. He's...he's using him as a _footstool,_ and Damian can barely breath around the conflicting emotions. Humiliation, at being put in such a degrading position by an enemy, but also...but also—something far more pleasant.

"All you have to do is stay still," Slade says. "That's it. Nothing else matters, boy. Just stay still. Do you understand?"

Damian nods shakily.

Slade digs his boot in further, drawing a hiss out of Damian. "Verbal responses, boy."

"Yes," Damian says, head dropping down. "Yes, I understand."

The boots dig in again. _"Sir,"_ Slade says pointedly.

Damian swallows, hating how much he likes that. "I...Yes, I understand, Sir."

"Very good," Slade says. "Good boy."

A rush of... _something_ goes through Damian, and the tension in his shoulders loosens, a shaky exhale escaping him.

Slade says nothing more. Instead, the sounds of typing start up again, Slade going back to whatever he was working on before. And Damian...stays still.

It's almost—peaceful. All he has to do is stay still and be...be useful. He's being useful.

His world narrows to the sensation of Slade's boots on his back, the hardwood underneath his knees, the rhythmic clack of computer keys. It's...calming. Incredibly so. He can feel subspace lapping at him, pulling him to give in, a pleasant fuzziness creeping in his awareness. And he wants to resist it, because that's what he's been trained to do. They taught him how to shake these things off.

But Richard and Jason also taught him how important it is to have scenes, how completely ignoring his needs will only make him vulnerable in the long run. It's the same for doms and switches, but can be far more disastrous with subs, especially in their line of work. His brothers had to learn that the hard way, he knows. Both of them tried to prove they didn't need to submit at one point, and something bad happened.

He hasn't asked what, because it doesn't seem like good memories for either of them. And it's that more than anything that has Damian going Down now, the waters of subspace drifting him away from shore.

He doesn't know how long it goes on. The ache in his knees is pleasant, the sharpness of Slade's boots just as much so. It feels...good. _He_ feels good. He feels... _right._

In the year since he's settled, the only scenes Damian has done have been ones in the isolation of his bedroom, a ridiculous YouTube video cued up of a dom talking through a simple scene, Damian's wrists bound together in front of him. It was just something annoyingly necessary, him attempting to follow his brothers' advice without actually having to submit to a real human being.

But that was _nothing_ compared to this. That at its best gave him a light buzz, a bit of relaxation. This is...something else entirely.

Eventually, the boots lift. It makes Damian sway slightly, but he stays still and calm, mind alight.

Slade's hand settles on the back of Damian's neck, and he draws Damian up gently. Damian moves with the pull, shifting up onto his knees, hazy eyes drifting upward to look at Slade.

Slade tilts his head, fingers kneading, and Damian hums at how good it feels. Slade pulls him forward, pressing Damian's face to his thigh, stroking his hand through his hair.

"You did so well," Slade murmurs, and a rush of pleasure runs through Damian, head extremely floaty. Is this what being high feels like? "So good for me, boy."

"Thank you, Sir," Damian breathes.

Slade's lips curve upward in a small smile. _"Stay right here,"_ he Orders, and Damian nods immediately, not moving when Slade stands up and walks away, then swaying into the man when he returns and sits back down.

"I have something for you," Slade says, and holds up the object in his hand.

Damian blinks at it, his brain taking a moment to identify the circular band of black leather as a collar. It's high quality, very clearly expensive, and there's a silver _'D'_ right in the middle, for Damian. Or maybe Deathstroke.

Damian is shocked by how badly he wants Slade to put it on him. It starts to draw him Up, because he's...he's not Slade's. That's not what this is, he isn't giving himself over, isn't agreeing to be _Slade's sub._ This is a one-time thing, that's all. He shouldn't _want_ to wear the man's collar.

It's all...bullshit subspace stuff. He shouldn't listen to it. He needs to come all the way Up, he needs to leave—

"Damian," Slade says softly. _"Let me take care of you."_

To his great embarrassment, tears well to the surface, and he nods shakily, trying to blink them back.

 _"Good boy,"_ Slade says, the words sending a rush of pleasure through Damian. He leans into Slade, tilting his head up to allow the man to wrap the collar around his throat. It smells new, and the weight is solid when Slade slides the buckle into place, letting it rest.

"There," Slade murmurs. "Very good. I've got you."

He runs his thumb over Damian's bottom lip, then across his cheek. "This isn't me claiming you. But while you're with me, you're _mine._ Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Damian responds instantly, feeling— _something_ at the claim. He's wanted. He's owned. He's _good._ It takes his breath away, how good it feels to be those things.

He reaches up a hand, gripping at the collar, eyes sliding shut at how stable it makes him feel. It's difficult to think, difficult to remember why he didn't want to wear this. But he...doesn't have to worry about that. Slade has him, the dominant has him. Everything is okay.

"Such a good boy," Slade says, and Damian—moans.

He freezes, something inside of him _embarrassed_ by the noise, but the smile Slade gives him is pleased, and it soothes Damian immediately.

"Feeling good, boy?"

Damian nods. "I...yes, Sir. I like..."

He can't bring himself to say it, but Slade doesn't seem to mind, picking up where he left off. "You like being useful, don't you, boy? You like being my footrest. You like being _good_ for me. Isn't that right?"

Damian nods again, faster this time. "Yes, Sir."

"Good boy," Slade says, and Damian sighs with pleasure.

Slade's hands go to his belt, undoing it and opening his pants, then pulling out his cock. He's half-hard, and Damian watches with some level of fascination as Slade strokes himself. It makes Damian suddenly aware of the fact that _his_ pants are a little tight, and it draws a gasp out of him.

Slade smirks. "Lean in, boy. _Open your mouth."_

Damian does so, dropping his jaw and moving forward between Slade's spread thighs. Slade places a hand on the back of his neck again and guides him closer, other hand holding his cock in place to push it into Damian's mouth.

Damian's never done this before, but he understands the general concept, and he flutters his tongue against the underside of Slade's cock as he pushes inside, drawing a grunt out of the man. It makes Damian feel proud, to make Slade feel good, so he does it again and again, closing his lips around Slade and sucking.

Slade chuckles under his breath. "There you go, good boy."

The words only make Damian want to work harder, and he tries to push himself further down Slade's cock. He chokes when it hits the back of his throat, fighting back the urge to gag. He can do this. He can be good.

So he draws in a deep breath through his nose and then pushes himself, not stopping even when he chokes, suppressing his gag reflex in the way he learned under very different circumstances. And Slade lets out a soft groan as he slowly slides down Damian's throat, the teenager not stopping until his nose is pressed against Slade's crotch.

"Damn," Slade says. "Look at you, huh? So desperate for it now that you're Down. Think I'd be used to it by now; all you bat brats are the same."

Damian knows that means something, but he can't quite figure it out right now, instead focusing on the almost-awe in Slade's voice when he says _look at you._ He's making the dom happy.

His hand, still clenched around the collar, tightens further. Its presence is comforting, soothing, the press of the _'D'_ against his palm even more so.

"There you go," Slade says as Damian sucks as best he can at the man's cock. It's large, Damian's lips stretching obscenely around it, the weight heavy against his tongue. The hand on the back of his neck is solid, holding Damian in place exactly where Slade wants him, and there's something so... _pleasant_ about that, about how thoroughly Slade can keep him controlled. This is a man he can be beaten by, _has_ been beaten by. There's no showboating here, only honest _strength._

Slade cants his hips forward in a testing thrust, and Damian takes it, relaxing his body and his throat to let Slade do as he pleases. Slade thrusts again, and again, the force of it picking up.

"Good boy," Slade says. "Yeah, there you go, just take it. Let me use you. _Very good."_

Damian sinks even further, moaning softly and letting Slade use him. He's being good, being useful. This is all he has to do.

Slade fucks his throat, grunting out small sounds of pleasure and praises for Damian. And when he comes he does so right down Damian's throat, Ordering Damian to, _"Swallow."_

So Damian does, feeling proud of himself, especially when Slade tells him he's done well. He feels like he's on cloud nine.

Slade doesn't pull out, letting his softening cock rest in Damian's mouth. There's pressure suddenly against Damian's crotch, firm and unyielding. Slade's boot, he realizes, as it grinds against Damian's trapped cock.

Damian moans weakly, jerking, one hand flying to grab at the boot.

 _"Hands behind your back,"_ Slade Orders, and Damian's hands immediately fly into place, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around his left wrist. "Good boy."

Damian would thank him if he could speak, instead he simply makes himself relax, not fighting against the pressure as Slade's boot presses more firmly. It feels...good, and Damian thrusts against it, moaning at the delicious friction that causes.

"There you go," Slade purrs. "Go on, boy. Use my boot to get yourself off."

Damian's eyes slide shut and he nods as much as he can. Tentatively he follows the instruction, grinding up against Slade's shoe. It's _almost_ painful, but in the same way the pain in his back and knees were earlier, a _good_ kind of pain. A pain that reminds him where he is, who he belongs to. The mere thought has Damian moaning and thrusting up harder, his breath quickening as he feels himself getting close.

 _"Come for me,"_ Slade Orders, and Damian does so, pleasure sparking up his spine, vision exploding in white. He slips Down and Down.

He doesn't know how long he's out, only that when he begins to drift back towards the surface it's to the feeling of strong arms wrapped around him, a large hand stroking up and down his spine, a deep voice rumbling soothing praises in his ear. His face is pressed into the curve of a neck, and his own hand is once against clutching at the collar around his throat.

Damian shifts sluggishly, and the other person's words cut off briefly before saying, "There you are. Come on, boy. You're safe, I've got you. Time to _come Up."_

Damian blinks rapidly as he's tugged back up to the surface.

He feels...tired, but—good. _Great,_ even. Everything is so...calm, steady. He feels so perfectly content, a feeling he hadn't even realized he'd been lacking in. Why on Earth had he resisted all of that for so long? It was...it was amazing.

He makes no attempt to move or pull away, staying boneless on top of Slade. The man doesn't try to move him either, instead continuing to stroke his back and hold him close, heartbeat and breathing reassuringly steady.

After another few minutes, Damian's mind starts to come back to him. He shifts awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortable with how he's just _resting_ on top of a mercenary, some level of embarrassment returning to him.

Slade seems to sense it, because his hand stills, though he doesn't release Damian quite yet, arms still firm around him. One of them snakes away briefly before returning, there's a faint cracking noise, and then Slade is shifting Damian slightly and holding a water bottle up to his mouth.

"Drink," Slade says, and Damian rankles slightly at continuing to do as he's told, feeling extremely awkward, but he parts his lips nonetheless and allows the man to pour some water into his mouth.

This repeats until about half of the bottle is gone, and then Damian pushes it away, straightening. Slade allows the movement, dropping his grip, and Damian gets awkwardly to his feet, blushing faintly at having spent so long in Slade's lap.

And then he has to grimace, because his underwear is sticky, clinging to his thighs with his own release. He's never come in his pants before, never come anywhere except the shower actually, and his cheeks flame bright red at the sensation. They get even brighter at the fact that he...isn't averse to the feeling.

Slade tilts his head, watching him. "You can use my shower, if you like."

Damian shakes his head immediately; he doesn't want to stay here any longer than he has to, not even to clean himself up. He can do that at one of their safehouses around the city before he heads home.

"Alright," Slade agrees without protest. "C'm'ere, boy, and let me take that thing off you."

He's talking about the collar, Damian realizes. He's going to take the collar off. Which makes sense, because the scene is over and Damian is _not_ his sub, definitely doesn't _want_ to be his sub, but—

But he...doesn't want to take it off. It makes him feel...grounded, steady. Taken care of. He wants to hold on to that feeling for as long as he can.

Not meeting Slade's eye, he says, "I would like to keep it." His words come out stilted, awkward. "If that is alright."

Slade is silent, and so Damian chances a glance back at him. The man is smiling, something Damian can't quite identify in the curl of his lips.

"It's yours," Slade agrees, inclining his head. "Make sure to wear it the next time you come over."

Damian sneers at him, chin jutting out. "What makes you think there is going to be a _next time,_ Wilson?"

Slade's expression and posture don't change, but Damian gets a feeling of _amusement_ coming off of him. It makes his sneer deepen.

"Sure, kid," Slade says easily. "It's _always_ a one-time thing. Feel free to tell yourself that."

Damian's hands ball into fists, hating how _mocking_ those words sound, how sure Slade seems that Damian will be back. His hands ball into fists, and he almost rips off the collar just to prove a point—but he can't quite bring himself to.

He turns and strides towards the window without another word, ignoring the _sound_ his pants make as he does so.

And as he climbs out onto the fire escape, he pretends he can't hear Slade call, "See you next time, boy."

He also pretends he doesn't find the idea appealing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing a dom/sub world AU! Definitely a fan of the dynamics the world presents. Drop a comment, tell me your thoughts!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed :)


End file.
